Gloves
by YouLookLikeFOOD
Summary: After a massive breakout from the Company, five people try to help each other survive; a speedster with a black heart, a boy with a secret, a man who never meant to murder, a woman wearing gloves, and a serial killer who wants all of their abilities...
1. Escape

It seemed to her, that in many ways, whatever they had used to knock her out was specifically designed to keep the nightmares in her mind alive.

After all, she'd been here for so long. Weeks, months, years… they all sort of blurred eventually, as the horrors in her dreams became more pronounced, worse and worse as the days went on.

But then again, it could just be her. After all, she'd seen a lot in her life; nightmares should mean nothing.

"I think she's waking up."

She almost groaned. She'd seen so many of these dreams; the ones where she had a chance to break free, that she was awake and being moved to a separate cell, that she could possibly escape this place and find somewhere 'safe', if there really such a word. But then the men would change, transforming into monsters or creatures of shadow.

Or worse; they would turn into a little girl, with black hair and sparkling amber eyes. A little girl, barely eleven years old, who would giggle and laugh, dancing out of view as she was forced to follow, begging for her to come back, promising that things would be ok when even she knew they were lies. And she would cry for the loss of the little girl as she saw her, trapped by a forest that would come alive, shivering behind bars made of a tree's branches, or by a circle of flames that would surround and capture her.

And she would be unable to help her, forced to turn and save herself, leaving the little girl behind…

"Of course she's not waking up." Another voice growled. She didn't even begin to try and imagine this was real; she'd been disappointed too many times. "They put enough in her to knock out an elephant."

"If they did that, she'd be dead." The first voice pointed out.

By the tone in the second's voice, it was obvious he'd just rolled his eyes. "Figure of speech."

There was a long pause, then the first piped up again.

"So, um… what's with the gloves, anyway?"

She perked up. Well, that was new. None of her dreams asked about her gloves before; they were always ignored or pointed out with extreme intensity, until she could no longer handle it. Then they would disappear, revealing the weakness beneath…

"Don't touch them!" The second snapped.

There was a long pause, in which it was obvious the second man hadn't gotten over the fear behind his words. Finally, he seemed to calm down slightly, because he replied, in a calm, collected voice. "It's nothing, really. Her personal preference. She used to get very angry if anyone tried to touch them."

"But… she's asleep." The first persisted. "Why didn't they take them off? I mean, they wouldn't do that for anyone else."

There was an even longer pause, until it became apparent that the second man was not going to answer.

_Go on. _She thought bitterly, unable to help becoming interested in the dream. _Tell him the truth._

But the truth was a complicated and almost painful thing, and it could not be admitted. Not by these people, anyway. And in all honesty, they all knew, her included, why they couldn't remove the gloves. Because without them, it was too easy to imagine her as nothing but a helpless girl, scarred and crippled by a horrible past. No, it was easier to leave them, and to hide the truth from the world, to hide the pain from everyone, especially themselves.

Her eyes snapped open. "Go on."

She flinched. For a dream, the pain seemed surprisingly real. Her throat was burning, dry and cracked from disuse. There was a numb sensation in her arm, though there was a slight pressure just in the crease of her elbow, where she knew a needle pierced her skin, keeping her asleep.

"Tell him why." She went on.

The first man, who was much younger than the second, and obviously new to the business, swallowed. "I _told _you she was awake." He hissed.

"It's not a problem." The second replied, adjusting something next to her bed. "She'll be out like a light in just a second…"

For a moment, she considered allowing this opportunity to pass, for this dream to disappear. But every instinct in her went against it.

Her fingers flicked feebly, but it was enough to send a jet of orange flame towards the second man. He cried out in pain as his clothes caught fire, and he rapidly worked to extinguish the flames.

She quickly threw another blast towards the IV, severing her connection to it. Thankfully, this cleared her head somewhat, allowing her to send another flame towards the first man, who screamed even louder than his partner did, until ice began to crackle around him, freezing him completely.

She mentally swore, pulling herself off the bed and tearing the needle out of her arm, placing a finger on the area to keep it from bleeding as she ran.

The man followed her, still covered in sparkling, glittering ice. She raced ahead, knowing she was going to need help to get out of this place, especially if she was fighting a freezer.

She pushed her legs as hard as she could until she reached another prison. The person inside wasn't unconscious, and she quickly fried the keypad before forcing the door open.

"Help me!" She cried desperately.

She didn't wait for his reply; she simply kept moving, opening every cage she could, releasing the prisoners inside, screaming for help. Some stayed to fight, others simply ran. She knew that they would be captured first, with no one to help them when they encountered someone with an ability that exceeded their own.

Her thoughts were still foggy as she tore out the IV of a tall man, whose eyes cleared almost instantaneously.

"Move!" She shoved him out of the bed before turning to face her pursuer, who was currently trying to fight off at least a dozen former inmates.

The ice controller didn't last long. Eventually, someone managed a lucky shot and he was down; unconscious or worse. No one tried to determine which. No one really cared.

And then everyone started running.

As she ran with them, she could not help but notice the collection of raw power that was backing her, escaping to the world outside. Certainly, some of the abilities were useless. But there were others, strong enough to survive, strong enough to fight. A water-controller. A man who controlled sonic waves. A woman who caused the earth to shake. Even a young boy, who managed to take out half of the building with one concentrated thought, calling a tornado to the surface of the planet, ordering it to rip the place from the ground.

Anyone who could fly took to the skies immediately. Some ran, others stole cars, getting away as quickly as they could, while men with guns began to pour out of the building.

"Come on!" A man yelled in her ear, lifting her off the ground. He was in the air in a split-second, into the clouds above so fast that her stomach dropped.

It was too much. She collapsed, falling limp in the man's arms, unconscious in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Sylar slowly set the girl down on the couch, before straightening and looking around at the few who managed to find this place. This included himself, along with two other men, a young boy, and two women, including the one on the couch.

He quickly summed up the others, and saw that they were doing the same. The woman who was on her feet had already found a kitchen knife that she clutched in her hand as though it was her lifeline. She had short black hair and the softest grey eyes he'd ever seen; the perfect color of a mist rising above a calm sea. Those eyes were constantly flickering, looking back and forth at everyone. He already knew she was a speedster; she'd been running around the house, securing everything and making sure that there was no one around for miles.

One of the men looked as though he spent every moment of his life in a gym, his muscles bulging to the point where it became somewhat ridiculous. Along his face was a jagged scar, which traveled down to his neck and disappeared when it reached his shoulder. He was eyeing the woman with the knife warily, and the feeling seemed somewhat mutual, as she continued to shoot glares in his direction.

The other man was almost a complete opposite. He was skinny, almost gaunt, and his features looked pale and haunted. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his face was almost grey. His face was the sort you could easily forget if you saw it in the street, but any closer and it would be etched into the darkest parts of your memory forever, as you wondered what he could have seen to make him look so pathetic.

It was around this time that he realized he probably wouldn't know their names for a long time, and decided to amuse himself by giving them each nicknames, ones that could be forgotten and discarded when their real names were discovered. He named the speedster Dagger, as along with the knife in her hands she had a sharp glint behind the soft grey in her eyes. The man who clearly had no life outside the gym was called, quite simply, Scarface. The other man was called The Ghost, for all of the obvious reasons.

And then there was the boy, who he called 'The Kid' in a rare moment of imagination. He was pale, but there was a determined light in his dark brown eyes. His hair was light brown, tossed about around his head as though he'd never seen a brush a day in his life. He couldn't have been older than ten, possibly eleven.

And then he turned to the woman on the couch. She was probably seventeen, maybe eighteen. Her face was entirely unremarkable, surrounded by short red hair. She wasn't overly pretty; her face could easily be forgotten if she simply walked out the door right now.

In fact, the only thing that was in any way different about her was the gloves on her hands. Unlike everyone else, who simply had the grey shirt and pants given to everyone who was held prisoner, her hands held a single splash of red.

The gloves were solid crimson, cut off at the knuckle of each finger, leaving the top exposed. It was obvious by the way they were fraying at these areas that she had cut them herself. They quickly earned her the nickname 'Gloves'.

There was a long pause, in which no one dared to say a word as they all surveyed everyone else. Finally, Dagger sighed heavily.

"Quick question. Is anyone here going to try and kill me?"

Sylar had to admire her bluntness. He shook his head to indicate that _he _wasn't, and found the others doing the same.

"Oh, good. Is anyone here going to try and kill anyone else?"

Sylar shook his head again; he had no intention of killing anyone. Yet.

"Good." This voice didn't belong to Dagger; it was coming from the couch behind him. Sylar turned around as Gloves slowly sat up.

He stared. While she'd been asleep, he hadn't been able to see her eyes. They were a brilliant amber, shining in the light in a perfect shade of orange-gold, sparkling in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

Gloves looked around. "All right. I don't want to know names. I just want to know who wants to leave."

No one spoke up.

She nodded slowly. "Show of hands. Who has a criminal record?"

Every hand but The Kid's went up, Gloves' and Sylar's included.

Gloves went on and Sylar listened, fascinated by the ease in which she took control of the situation without giving true orders.

She turned to Dagger. "What is it, and is it real or the result of an ability?"

Dagger grinned. "Theft and murder. Real."

Gloves nodded, then pointed to Scarface. He scowled in a way that he must have thought looked impressive, then answered, "Theft and murder. Real."

She pointed to the Ghost, who answered, "Murder. Result of the ability."

Sylar cleared his throat as she pointed to him and made no attempt to deny his record. "Murder, real and result of ability."

She nodded, then spoke herself. "Arson and murder. Real and result of ability." She paused, looking at everyone, then asked. "Anyone want to leave yet?"

No one did, so she went on.

"Ability." She pointed to Dagger.

"Speedster."

Scarface scowled again as she pointed at him, then replied, "Teleportation."

Sylar stiffened, trying to ignore the thoughts of who his next victim would be.

Gloves pointed at The Ghost, who smiled dryly and touched a plant. It shriveled up and died in a second.

She pointed to The Kid, who replied, "I know the abilities of others," in a small voice.

Her finger landed on Sylar all too quickly, but, again, he replied truthfully. "I know how things work."

For a moment, Gloves' eyes narrowed on him, then she gestured to herself. "Pyrokinetic."

She glanced at them all a final time, then asked, "Last chance. Anyone who wants to leave now can go ahead and do so. But if you stay, you're here until this is all over." Her eyes seemed to lock on The Ghost for a second longer than the others. "Once names are known, there's no going back."

Sylar nodded slowly; her withholding the question of names made more sense now that he understood her reasoning. And it was best that she'd done so; if a traitor knew too much…

Scarface cleared his throat. "I don't really do the whole 'team effort' thing."

Gloves nodded, and he disappeared in the blink of an eye.

No one else seemed keen to go; not even Sylar. He couldn't help it; these people had just broken out of an unbreakable prison with him. There was something behind that, something he couldn't ignore.

"I'm a bit of a loner myself." Dagger commented. "But I'll stay. For the kid's sake." She gestured towards the boy.

The child swallowed, then whispered. "I'm staying. I don't have anywhere else to go."

Gloves nodded. "Anyone else?"

No one spoke any further, so she gestured to The Ghost. "Name."

"Christopher." He replied softly. Sylar raised an eyebrow; it wasn't exactly a name he would place on him. It sounded too… normal.

Dagger glowered at Gloves, then replied, "Dawn."

Gloves gestured to The Kid, who replied in his shaky voice, "Jason."

She smiled at him, then gestured to Sylar.

He looked at her, his eyes locked perfectly on hers. She returned his gaze levelly, her own eyes sparkling.

"Sylar." He replied at last.

Gloves nodded slowly, then gestured to herself, not taking her eyes off his. "Ava."

There was a long pause. Finally, Gloves, or rather, Ava, looked around.

"Well, now that we know enough about each other that we're not going to kill one another, let's figure out where we are, shall we?"

She walked to the window and lifted the blind up.

"We're in Texas, I think." Sylar told her. "Not sure exactly where, but in Texas."

Ava blinked, then lowered the blind. "Texas. Should be far enough."

"It was as far as some of us could get." Dawn replied, gesturing vaguely to Jason.

Ava raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you walked the whole way?" To save Jason the embarrassment of answering, the question was directed at Christopher.

He shook his head. "We flew, ran, teleported… anything we could."

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Mm-Hmm. And the house?"

"Abandoned." Dawn filled in. "Long time ago, by the look of it. But it's safe."

"I think it was more than abandoned." Christopher said slowly. "The closets still had clothes inside. And even the fridge. It was off, but there was a lot of spoiled food in there."

Sylar bit his lip, swearing inwardly. He recognized this house, naturally. He'd come here a long time ago. And left with a new ability. The body was gone; he'd already checked when he realized where he was.

Dawn disappeared up the stairs for a moment, then came back, her clothes changed.

"Huh." She said, examining them. "Whoever lived here didn't have too bad taste."

They were a little large on Dawn's small frame, but from her first choice it was obvious that she wasn't the type to make herself noticed easily. The pants were solidly black, and the shirt was a mixture of colors, ranging from light grey to black in a patchwork, along with a dark grey jacket.

Sylar raised an eyebrow and looked down at his own clothes; the simple light grey shirt and pants given to everyone, that never fit no matter what size you were. For a brief moment, he hoped that the woman had a husband who was relatively his size. A quick look at Christopher confirmed that this thought was present in his mind as well.

Dawn seemed to notice the look exchanged between them, because she chuckled softly.

"No such luck, boys." She told them. "There's only the one closet. No worries; there's a couple stores not too far from here. I can snag a few things for you."

Ava nodded. "All right, so we have clothes. Food?" She turned to Dawn, who smiled and nodded. "Water?"

"We have the essentials." Dawn replied. "Though the sinks don't really work; I'll just have to get the bottled stuff."

"And where are you going to get the money?" Jason asked.

Dawn and Sylar found themselves chuckling, but Ava shot them a glare. She knelt down next to him so that she was at eye level with him.

"No worries, kid. I know someone in the next town; he'll give us a bit of a loan until we can get some more, all right?" The lie seemed to come easily to her, but Jason didn't seem convinced.

"Aw, why lie to the kid?" Dawn asked, then told him, "We don't have money. We're just gonna steal the stuff. All right with you?"

Jason swallowed and nodded. Sylar was surprised he'd even asked; after all, he'd found out that everyone in the room had a criminal record, excluding Jason himself.

"Right. I'm out." Dawn disappeared as she raced off.

Ava sighed heavily, looking sadly at Jason before heading up the stairs.

* * *

After about half an hour, Dawn returned. Ava, along with Sylar, Christopher, and Jonathon, were sitting in the room, waiting for her.

"Here you go, boys." Dawn smiled, then dashed off, leaving a pile of clothes behind as she raced to put whatever food she'd stolen in the fridge.

Ava, on the other hand, had already changed. A plain red shirt and black pants, complete with her red gloves.

She went to the kitchen to help Dawn, but the speedster was moving too quickly for her to do anything, so she simply waited nearby.

Dawn finished quickly, then came to Ava's side, leaning against the counter casually.

"Got you these." She said, handing her a pair of black gloves. These still had the fingertips, but that could easily be remedied.

Ava shot her a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." She paused, looking as though she was going to say something more, then closed her mouth as though assuming it would be best not to, running out of the room without word.

Ava met the others in the same room, clearing her throat. "All right. I've checked the place out. It has enough rooms for everyone, so privacy won't be an issue."

Dawn smiled. "I call the first room on the right."

Ava nodded, and Dawn disappeared.

"The rest of you can check the others out for yourselves. As for me, well…" She smiled. "I just want the basement."

Sylar, Christopher, and Jason went up the stairs. It was quickly settled; Christopher had the room on the left, Sylar the one next to it. Jason settled in the second room to the right, seeing as it was the smallest.

Sylar looked around, trying to grasp the idea that the room was now 'his'. It was nice enough; though the wallpaper would have to go. He wasn't exactly one for pink and white flowers.

He quickly ripped it down, leaving him with the plain white wall. It was definitely an improvement, though it would need some paint soon to keep it from looking like his cell back at The Company.

He changed quickly, wearing solid black and feeling better for it. The Company-issued clothes were thrown into the first trash can he found, and then incinerated by a blast of radioactive energy.

There was really nothing else to do, so he looked around the hallway. Dawn's room already had a sign that read: _PRIVATE. ENTER AND DIE._

Somehow, he didn't think she was kidding.

He walked out of the room, moving slowly, without any real purpose. He went down the stairs to find that he was the only one; not even Ava was outside of the basement.

He sat down on the couch for a while, before zapping the TV with a short electric burst. There was nothing on the news about any type of jailbreak. He snorted. Typical. The Company shut everything up, just like they always did. Many things had changed over the years about that place, but a lot had stayed the same.

He stood again, meandering to the basement door. He knocked twice, wondering exactly why he was doing so.

"Who is it?" Ava's voice answered.

He didn't reply for a while. In fact, only when Ava opened the door did he find his ability to speak returned to him.

"Oh. It's you." She sighed. "I suppose you'd better come in. I've been meaning to talk to you anyway."

He raised an eyebrow, but followed her inside. The room was dusty, but was unexpectedly bright. He found the source of the light as he entered; a thousand small fires flickering on the ground, each a different color, ranging from yellow to blue to a dark purple. The colors sent magnificent shadows, which flickered across the room in brilliant displays of light.

She gestured to a chair, and he sat down. She pulled one up in front of him, crossing her arms and leaning back on two legs casually.

"All right, here's the deal. Chris and Jason are off limits, understood? You hurt them, and I'll kill you so fast you won't have time to scream for mommy. As for Dawn, I'm not worried. She can take care of herself."

Sylar, to put it bluntly, was baffled. "I'm sorry… _what?_"

Ava rolled her eyes. "You know how things work. Ergo, you kill us and take our abilities. I'm not stupid; I've seen your kind before. Killed one of them personally; he's the main reason for the 'murder' on my record. I'm not exactly sorry about it either."

He paused for a moment, trying to understand. Slowly, understanding lit his eyes, which promptly darkened to match her threat. "Ah."

A brilliant, beautiful white flame leapt into life on her hand, weaving in and out of her fingers. "I know what you're thinking, Sylar. When you see all this around you. The fire, the different colors, the ability within my mind; you want it. You want it badly. Just like you want to be a speedster. Just like you want to be able to kill someone with a single touch." She chuckled without humor. "And there's only one thing to stop you; me."

He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair in much the same way she was. "All right, Ava. Relax. I won't touch them."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but replied, "Good."

She stood and turned away, walking to a different area of the room and lighting a large, lavender flame, which died down to become one of the little lights that surrounded the room.

"On one condition." Sylar continued as though she hadn't moved.

His sharp ears caught her barely audible swear. "Of course." She muttered, turning to him. "What 'condition'?"

He smiled disarmingly. "Oh, it's nothing huge. Nothing at all, really. Just a matter of simple curiosity."

She rolled her eyes. "The gloves, right?'

His smile widened. "The gloves." He agreed.

Her amber eyes, brilliant as they were, sparkled with a hideous hate. "What about them?"

He stood slowly, walking over to her with precise and careful steps. She stood her ground, her eyes still locked on his, burning through his mind and piercing into his thoughts until he was right next to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

"Why did they let you keep them?" He asked, his voice as soft as velvet, and yet somehow poisonous.

Ava arched an eyebrow. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

He chuckled dryly. "Then I'm afraid I can't make any promises."

She sighed heavily. "I can't tell you, Sylar. It's just that simple."

"Not even a hint?" A smile played across his lips, cold and malicious. His eyes glinted, reflecting her own colorful flames, which flickered and danced in the black.

She looked pointedly at him. "If a hint is all it takes to keep you away from the others…"

"It is." He replied smoothly. "For a while."

She snorted irritably. "That's the problem with your kind; you're so _stubborn._"

"I'm waiting for an answer, Ava. I won't wait forever."

She sighed again, deeper and heavier than any of the others. She suddenly looked much older; no longer the teenager he'd first seen, but an old woman, with many wars hiding in the years of her long life. "They let me keep the gloves because it was easier to think of me as a threat, an older woman instead of a frightened young girl."

"And why would the gloves do that?" He inquired, obviously interested.

"I said a hint, Sylar. I'm not giving you my whole life's story." Her features arranged into a perfect expression of smug triumph; a look that Sylar greatly wanted to wipe off of her face for good.

But if she wanted to play her little games, fine. He'd play along; and he'd win.

"Well, I'm afraid your little 'hint' isn't going to guarantee that kid's safety for long." He replied, keeping his voice soft.

"And Christopher's." She snapped, whirling around so that her short red hair whipped the side of his cheek. "It'll keep them safe for now; and that's all I need."

She threw up another flame, a neon yellow this time, and let it dim down into a tiny light on the floor before adding, "It doesn't matter anyway. Whatever deal we may have, I'm not letting you hurt them. Touch them, and I'll barbeque you."

He chuckled, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her indignation at the response. Instead, she threw up yet another flame. But this one was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen; it was pitch-black, blazing for just a fraction of a second before dying in front of him, to join the other small, flickering lights on the floor. He studied it closely, expecting to see a thousand different shades of grey; but no, it was perfectly black.

Amazed, he pulled his eyes away and back to Ava. "You'll find it's not quite that simple to kill me, Gloves. You see, I _can't _die. Not anymore."

She turned, and the satisfied smirk was back, twisting her features. "Unless, of course, I stab you in the back of the head."

He swallowed; this girl knew a lot about abilities. It made her a very dangerous enemy, and possibly a very valuable ally.

Her amber eyes glittered as a white flame danced across her wrist, circling it entirely in a perfect chain, which trailed into her hand and onto the floor. "Oh, but you're a shape shifter too, aren't you? So that means the spot can move." She laughed dryly. "Well, it seems I'll have a bit of a challenge ahead of me."

In a single, practiced motion, she flicked her hand, and the chain went flying towards him. He winced, but it disappeared before it could touch him.

He blinked spots out of his eyes; the white flame had been much brighter than he'd expected. When his vision cleared, he could no longer see Ava.

But he could hear her.

"Don't make me your enemy, Sylar." She called mockingly, hiding within the shadows. The colorful flames which had once dazzled him now threatened to end his existence as they threw out long shadows of different hues, from green to purple to orange to black.

"It's never a good idea."

Sylar took this as an excuse to leave, but could not resist having the final word. "This isn't over, Ava."

He left quickly before any of the bright shadows could turn against him.

In the shadows, Ava rolled her eyes and crept back out of the darkness. A deep, navy blue flame exploded before her as she continued to light the room.

* * *

Dawn raced down the stairs, finding Sylar waiting in the living room. She quickly snatched the remote from his hand and sat down on the couch.

Sylar jumped, then relaxed as she asked, "How in the world did you manage to get the TV working?"

She flicked through about twenty-nine channels while she asked this, her finger pressing the button so quickly that it didn't have time to catch up.

In reply to her question, Sylar's hand sparkled with electricity. She nodded in understanding, tapping the button a few more times before settling for a local news program.

"And they put up nothing." She shook her head in wonder. "Not a single mention of our amazing escape." She stood and struck a dramatic pose on the words 'amazing escape', moving quickly enough so that her actions wouldn't be guessed before they were completed.

Sylar rolled his eyes as she sat down again, flickering through channels once more.

Sylar looked at her. "So, what's the story with you?"

She didn't even look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you have a criminal record for a reason. What did you do? Why?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You know, some people would consider asking that kind of question to be… what's the word? Rude?"

He chuckled. "Are you one of those people?"

"Not as such, no." She replied, turning to face him at last. "What do you want to know?"

He smiled, seemingly genuinely, but Dawn had seen too many liars with honest faces to believe that anything or anyone was truly genuine, and he was certainly no exception to this rule.

"Your criminal record; it includes murder, doesn't it?"

She laughed, a strangely hollow sound, dry and completely without humor. "If you can really call it murder; and I personally choose not to. The men I killed were the worst sort of people. I did what had to be done to save myself and others from a fate worse than death."

"Ah." He nodded in understanding. "Let me guess; Company agents?"

The hollow laugh filled the air once more as she nodded. "I did what had to be done." There was a pause, then she added, "They weren't _all _company agents. There were some that I wished… wished I didn't have to… but there was no choice, there was no other way…" Her grey eyes grew distant, before suddenly snapping back to his face. "I've heard that the people you kill never really leave you; they come back for you in your nightmares. But those are the only ones who I've ever seen. The only ones I regret killing, because they were the only ones who weren't trying to kill me first."

Her eyes flickered away from him and back to the television. Sylar didn't speak again, somehow knowing that there was nothing more that Dawn had to say, and thus there was nothing more he could learn.

A few minutes later, Ava came out of the basement. She shot a pointed glare towards Sylar that Dawn did not question before sitting down on the couch next to her.

"What's on?"

"Not much." Dawn replied cheerfully, all signs of her earlier sadness vanishing. "And we're certainly not."

"Naturally." Ava rolled her eyes.

They sat in silence until Christopher and Jason joined them. Neither of them said a word; they just took a seat on the couch. Or, in Jason's case, on the floor.

Dawn kept an eye on Jason. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she was somewhat worried about him. He was just a kid, after all. And the way he kept wincing, turning to Sylar and shooting glares in his direction… it was unnerving. What happened to him? Why did The Company think that it was so important to lock up a ten-year-old boy?

Without really thinking about it, she sped to his side, sitting down next to him. He didn't jump; a sign that he'd been around others like her before.

She whispered in his ear, "You ok, kid?"

He looked at her, his features set in a weary sort of indignation. But he replied civilly enough. "Fine."

She looked at him, worried, then turned back to the TV screen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch again, and a second time only a few seconds later. His face was slowly becoming pale, until it was almost white.

Dawn swallowed, resisting the urge to hug him, as was natural when one saw a child who was that afraid. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath, then winced again.

Finally, he stood up slowly, turning to face Sylar. Everyone stared at him, surprised by his sudden movement as he started walking towards the man. His steps were purposeful and calculated as he moved, though he was pale and shaking, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

When he reached Sylar, he whispered something in his ear. Sylar's eyes widened, and he stared at the child. But Jason was already walking away, moving towards the stairs this time.

By the time he disappeared into his own room, all eyes were turned to Sylar, a quizzical expression on everyone's faces.

But none looked more baffled than Sylar himself. His eyes were still locked on the stairs, as though waiting for Jason to return and explain his actions.

* * *

Jason all but fell onto his bed, forcing his face into his pillow in case he screamed. Of course, he'd just revealed everything to a serial killer and practically signed his own death sentence, but at the moment it was all he could do to keep himself from smirking at the man. He thought that he'd been so smart, so clever, trying to gain everyone's trust. But he'd failed to take everything else into account; especially the simple, little detail that everyone here had proved themselves more than capable of lying.

He sat up, trying to calm down and finding it almost impossible. He waited for a moment, then the sound he'd been expecting reached his ears as someone knocked on his door.

"Come in." He said softly. He wasn't surprised when Sylar entered the room, though he pretended to be. It was an act that would be easy enough to see through; especially to a man who had lived around lies most of his life.

Sylar raised an eyebrow, pulling up a chair and sitting down without asking for permission. His features were set in an emotionless mask, but Jason wasn't fooled; the man was as pale as a sheet.

He cleared his throat before whispering, as though worried his voice might break and show his true fear, "You're telepathic."

Jason nodded once. "Yes." His own voice was steady, simply replying to the facts in front of him and affirming their accuracy. He kept his face emotionless as well, but he knew from Sylar's thoughts that his eyes did not betray him as easily as they betrayed the killer.

He saw the glint reappear in Sylar's eyes as he looked at him from a different perspective. Instead of appearing unnerved, as seemed natural, Jason laughed coldly.

"Oh, _enough." _He waved a flippant hand, as though the thoughts infiltrating his mind were a minor nuisance. "You are not the first killer I've met, Sylar, and you will certainly not be the last."

Sylar swallowed, and Jason felt a flash of smug triumph threaten to break through his mask. He suppressed it, instead fixing his face into the perfect picture of cold hatred.

For a moment, there was silence as Jason allowed Sylar to collect his thoughts. He allowed Sylar to speak, though he knew what he was going to ask before he did.

"You told me to stop thinking about it. That if I was going to kill everyone, I should just do it." Sylar's eyes glittered again, as though this question would show Jason as the powerless ten-year-old that Sylar wanted him to be, instead of the child who knew his every thought. Jason hid his smirk, allowing Sylar to believe he had the upper hand for the moment.

"Now why would you say that? You of all people should know the complications…?" He allowed the sentence to form into a question, looking irritatingly smug.

"Yes… Ava." Jason replied coolly, his tone like ice, his dark brown eyes hard and unforgiving.

It was the perfect answer. Sylar's face turned pale, the light dying in his eyes as he it became clear that his final hope had been destroyed in a second.

Jason waited again as Sylar scrambled to consider his options. Eventually, it was not his conscious mind that came up with the question, but the first thought that managed to release itself from the prison of his mind and escape into the world around them.

"What is her problem?"

Jason laughed again, the same cold and airy laugh he'd used before. "Ah, yes. Ava is… an interesting case."

Sylar's thoughts were practically screaming, and had it been anyone else, Jason would have cringed. They were all focused on one thing; the gloves.

"What are they?" The serial killer asked, his black eyes almost desperate. "Why does she… _why?_"

Jason paused. "I'm afraid I can't tell you."

Something flew across the room and shattered against a wall as Sylar stood, his eyes sparkling. "_Why?_" He all but snarled.

Jason slowly pressed the tips of his fingers together, weighing his options, then replied carefully, "The secrets in her mind are not mine to give, Sylar. She has her own life, and I can't interfere with it."

Sylar swore viciously, throwing something else across the room. Jason didn't even blink at the destruction going on around him; he simply waited, keeping his expression calm.

Finally, Sylar sat down again, his breathing heavy.

"So we're done with our little tantrum, are we?" Jason asked.

If looks could kill, Jason wouldn't have lasted a second under the glare Sylar threw in his direction. But Jason couldn't help but add a last remark under his breath: "And they say_ I'm _the child."

Sylar's hand clenched into a fist, but he controlled his temper for a moment longer. "Why does she wear the gloves?" He asked, the question muffled as he spoke through clenched teeth.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "I'm not certain we should talk about Ava; the subject rather seems to raise your blood pressure."

Electricity ran around Sylar for a second, but he took a deep breath, trying to force himself to keep his composure. "Tell me, Jason, or I swear I'll…"

Jason raised a hand, cutting him off. "You'll do _nothing. _There is no threat you can make."

There was another pause as Sylar tried to compose himself. Eventually, his breathing steadied and he nodded slowly.

His voice was much softer as he spoke again. "Just tell me one thing."

Jason knew what he would ask and decided to permit it. "Of course."

"How did she know about me? She knew I was a shape-shifter; something I've never told her."

Jason smiled knowingly. "Well, that's simple, really. She knew because she's met you before."

Sylar looked at him, puzzled, but Jason turned away, indicating that the conversation was over. Sylar clenched his fists in frustration, but didn't protest. Instead, he simply walked out of the room.


	2. What Has Passed

**A/N: Since I haven't explained this yet, this is after the fourth season, AU in that Claire didn't reveal her ability to the world. **

Ava slowly re-arranged the mattress that was her bed, placing it in the corner of the room. She pulled a few of the small flames next to it, before lighting a few more, causing them to float above her, slowly flickering their way towards the ceiling.

She sighed heavily, lying down and turning on her side. A white flame burst from her fingertips, coating the floor, but never actually touching it. The white turned to black, and then to silver as a picture unfolded next to her. A night sky, dotted with stars, shining in the pale light of the moon, which was partially hidden by falling snow. The snow coated the ground, and actually moved as it fell, flake by flake, to the world below.

She sighed and turned around on her other side. She should be exhausted. She'd escaped from The Company, built up a new, temporary life, and met a few people who could turn on her at any moment. It was enough to wear anyone out.

But the fact remained; she hadn't been able to sleep for hours. She sighed and threw her hands out. A pale blue flame exploded in front of her, brilliantly bright, then died down to another of the small lights. It floated down to the floor, taking its place among the rest of the colorful army that stood guard over her.

She sighed, creating another one, a soft orange, followed by an earthy brown.

The brown grew into a tree, exploding with dark green leaves, dotted with purple fruit. It shrunk slowly, giving way to a large expanse of grass, and a large bush of wild roses, which weaved in and out of each other in blues, yellows, whites and the darkest red possible. The entire picture was composed of nothing but fire, but each feature was distinctly recognizable.

And then a child ran across the field. Her black hair flew out behind her as she ran, laughing silently. She looked over her shoulder, her bright amber eyes sparkling.

Ava laughed softly, a sad little sound that barely managed to escape her lips. In fact, it seemed more of a stifled sob than an actual laugh.

The child beckoned to someone who had yet to arrive in the picture, and then kept running, heading towards the tree. She giggled without making a sound, climbing up to the highest branch she could reach, looking as though she'd take off at any second, like she could grow wings and fly away.

She kept beckoning, and Ava found her hand moving towards her. The child smiled, a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the room more than any of Ava's flames ever could.

And then she fell.

Ava gasped as the little girl kept falling, down, down, down, into the grass below. She sprung to her feet, unharmed, but the tree was changing, into a creature born of nightmares. Its branches grew into long, sharp-looking fingers, which reached down and lifted the child back into the air.

The little girl screamed silently, and Ava could do nothing but watch helplessly as she was lifted, higher and higher into the sky above.

The picture grew dark, each color taking on an entirely different hue as night fell above it. There was no moon, no silver light to change it to beauty. No, it was all smoke and ash, and the little girl was thrown back to the ground carelessly, to be taken away by masked figures. She screamed wordlessly, soundlessly. Her lips formed a word; a word that Ava knew was a name. More importantly, she knew the name. She was familiar with the name.

The child's eyes locked on hers as she cried again, though no sound came from her. _'Ava!_'

Ava chocked. "No!" she breathed.

But the child was lost, and the flames turned black.

Ava snapped back into the world around her. Disgusted, she demolished the picture, tearing into it as easily as one would tear through paper, each of the pieces vanishing into thin air.

She curled up into a ball. Even awake, her nightmares still haunted her. She was beginning to think that there really was no escape, that this was all there ever was; the dreams and the reality that life was worse than they could ever be.

She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on her knees.

It was then that the knock came at her door. She jumped, and a few of the flames died in her shock. She relit one quickly, a strange mahogany that she kept in her hand as she walked.

She opened the door to reveal Dawn, whose face looked downright terrifying in the shadows created by the flame in Ava's palm. She quickly changed its color to a bright yellow, which improved the situation somewhat.

She rubbed her eyes, supposedly tiredly. "Hey, Dawn."

Dawn looked restless, constantly shifting her weight from foot to foot. Ava knew from experience that a restless speedster was never a good thing. "Hi, Ava."

"Can't sleep?"

"No."

"Me neither. Movie?"

"Sure. Jurassic Park?"

"Sounds good. Popcorn?"

"Only got caramel."

"Even better."

It was a simple, short conversation, but Ava could tell that it meant the world to Dawn. Speedsters grow used to everything being extremely fast, so the slightest pause would feel like an eternity. And Dawn had been in the dark, and in the silence, for a few hours. Which gave her plenty of time to think of the thousands of ways things could go badly if she talked to anyone in this house.

"I found it earlier, when I was going through everything." Dawn said, speeding towards the kitchen and throwing the popcorn in the microwave before running back and inserting the DVD. "And I realized I hadn't seen it in forever."

"I've… well, I've never seen it." Ava replied, absentmindedly weaving the flame between her fingers. Its color had changed again, this time to neon green.

"Never?" Dawn's eyebrows shot up. "None of them?"

"Didn't have time really."

"Your movie education is seriously lacking." She paused. "Star Wars?"

"Nope."

"Indiana Jones?"

"No."

"James Bond?"

She shook her head.

"Lord of the Rings?"

"Part of the second one."

"Titanic?"

"Absolutely not."

Dawn whistled. "Ok. We're going to have to fix that."

"Sounds good to me."

There was a pause, then Dawn raced off to check to popcorn. She groaned; microwaves annoyed speedsters, since there was nothing they could do to make them go faster.

Ava waited patiently until Dawn came back. She flopped down on the couch next to her, placing the bowl in between them.

"I put two of the caramel packets on." She told her. "I can't stand it when there isn't enough."

"I bet your dentist loves you."

Dawn barked out a laugh, throwing a piece into the air and catching it in her mouth with ease. "Well, the feeling's mutual."

Ava chuckled and nodded, popping a piece of the caramel corn into her own mouth. "Tell me about it. There are only two things worse than Company Agents: dentists and doctors."

Dawn laughed again, turning the TV on. "I actually ended up punching one of the two. I don't remember which."

"Don't feel sorry for it; I'll fry any guy who comes at me with a needle. Almost did, once."

"Remind me not to go near you with a needle, then."

"Will do."

The two fell silent as the movie came on. They watched it quietly for a good half hour before Dawn spoke up.

"What's that?" The question was quiet, soft.

"What's what?" Ava turned to her, to find her pointing to a direction somewhere behind her. She turned again, to find a large object behind her. A brilliant wall of black flame, trying to shape and form itself into something, but unsure of what.

"You've been doing it for a while, now." Dawn informed her.

"Oh. Sorry." Ava waved a hand to clear it away, but Dawn stopped her, taking care not to actually restrain her, knowing how that would affect a former prisoner.

"No, it's ok." Dawn said. "It's actually kind of… beautiful."

"Thanks." Ava smiled weakly.

"I've never really seen that before. With the different colors and all. I mean, I've met Pyrokinetics before, but…"

Ava nodded slowly. "It's pretty rare, yeah."

"Any color?"

"Pick one."

Dawn paused, then asked, "Blue?"

"Give me more to work with!" Ava replied in mock exasperation, as the wall of flame slowly shifted to a navy blue. "That occurs naturally, if you get it hot enough."

Dawn chuckled. "All right, all right." Another pause, then, "Pink?"

"Um… ew. A little too girly for my liking. Oh well, pink it is." The fire shifted to a hot pink.

"Oh, yuck, take it away!" Dawn laughed. "Ok, ok, green. Dark green."

It shifted to a deep, forest green. Dawn's eyes lit up. "Wow." She breathed.

She stared at it for a moment, then tried, "Red. Like, dark red."

The fire flickered and danced into a deep scarlet. "Come on, give me a challenge!" Ava protested.

Dawn chuckled. "Well, what _is _a challenge?"

"I have no idea. You figure it out."

Dawn laughed again. "No fair! I can hardly think of it if you don't even know!"

"White." A different voice offered. They both jumped, their eyes whipping around to find Jason, sitting on the stairs, watching the flames.

Ava smiled. "White it is."

The flame changed again, and Dawn gasped.

"Wow. Just… wow." She breathed.

Ava grinned. "You think that's impressive? Watch this."

Ava stood, walking over to the flames, her fingers dancing with them, forming them, shaping them into something new. In a few minutes, a perfect, fiery replica of Dawn stood before them, walking slowly around, then running.

"Can't make it as fast as you, sadly." Ava joked.

Dawn stared, standing and looking at her new duplicate. "Impressive."

"Thank you." Ava took a little mock-bow, and the flames vanished.

Jason sat down on the couch, helping himself to the caramel corn. "She's right. It's amazing."

"Thanks." Ava sat next to him, and Dawn next to her. "You want to watch the movie with us?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're doing?"

Ava nodded, ruffling his hair. "Yep. We just got a little sidetracked."

"Hold up, isn't this movie rated R or something?" Dawn interjected.

"Yeah. And so is life." Jason replied.

"True." Dawn consented, sitting back again.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ava asked sympathetically. Jason nodded, and they said no more.

About halfway through the movie, Christopher joined them. He didn't say a word, but he did make more caramel corn, since their own supply was running dangerously low. He took great care not to touch them, even taking a small bowl for his own to avoid a careless accident.

By the time the movie was over, the only one who hadn't shown up was Sylar, and Ava wasn't exactly upset about it.

But, unknown to any but Jason, Sylar _was _awake. He was lying on his bed, just listening. He'd considered joining them more than once, and wasn't exactly sure why he wasn't. After all, most of them were murderers, and if they could all get along, then he certainly wouldn't be rejected.

And yet, he wouldn't really be accepted, either. Unlike the others, he killed other people with abilities, simply because he wanted their powers. So really, in their eyes, what was to stop him from doing the same to them?

Speedster. Telepathy. Pyrokinesis. The ability to kill with a touch. They were all here, in one house, all sitting downstairs and watching Jurassic Park. Things couldn't be easier.

Still, part of him, a minute, quiet part that he normally shoved aside, wanted to be down there with them. Laughing, covering Jason's eyes at the gory parts while he protested, eating caramel corn, and every so often trying to throw Ava by shouting some random color at her.

But he could never have that. He could never be like that. He could never be satisfied with a quiet, simple life. He could never have 'friends'. Because humans weren't worth keeping around and any hero would have an ability he wanted.

He turned on his side, willing himself to sleep. It didn't work; it never did.

He surprised himself by not knowing about the person outside his room until his door opened. By the sound of the footsteps, it was someone small.

"Sylar?" Jason's voice called in the darkness. "I know you're awake."

Sylar pretended to snore.

Jason chuckled softly. "Suit yourself. Just… they wouldn't mind, really. I mean, Ava wouldn't be too happy, but she'd get over it. If you wanted to come down and…"

"Leave it, kid." Sylar snapped.

"Fine."

The door closed as Jason walked out. Sylar listened to his footsteps until he was downstairs.

_"He was asleep." _He heard Jason explain.

"_Well, good for him." _Christopher said good-naturedly. _"I don't think I'll ever sleep again."_

_"Nightmares?" _Ava asked sympathetically.

_"The worst." _Christopher agreed.

Sylar turned on his side, sighing heavily. It seemed everyone in this house had nightmares. Even he sometimes woke in a cold sweat, screaming, battling against invisible monsters. They were all killers; they shouldn't be scared of anything. They were powerful. Untouchable.

But something had stopped them before. And who could honestly say that something wouldn't do it again?

The thought was enough to give anyone nightmares.

He jumped at the sound of laughter, wondering who it was this time that had made the joke. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the four people below, and how they would react should he choose to join them…

* * *

At the break of dawn, Sylar was on the roof.

The morning was cooler than the day had been, and the wind was dancing around his skin, sending goose bumps up his arms. There were a few clouds in the distance that suggested rain, and Sylar could hear it falling a few miles away, pattering to the earth in a soft rhythm, a melody of sparkling clear droplets.

He sighed heavily, watching the sun rise in the sky. Perhaps that rain would come here. Perhaps not. It was of little consequence.

His mind was elsewhere, far away from the rain, far away from this house and far away from its occupants.

All of his thoughts were focused on finding answers, answers to questions that he could not ask of his fellow…

He stopped. What? What could he call them? Friends? Hardly. Housemates? It was accurate, but reminded him too much of the word 'roommate', and he'd had his share of foul experiences with _those._

He broke off the thought and forced his mind to focus. There was more he needed to know, questions that needed answering before he could move on to such trivial matters.

But how to get a hold of those answers? That was the trick. He could kill Jason, become a telepath and pry the answers out of the first person he saw. But no, Ava would have his head, if Dawn didn't beat her to it. To have a speedster and a Pyrokinetic after him was not a place he wished to be.

He sighed deeply. That was the problem with being a killer. There was no one you could turn to if you needed help.

He shivered; as if he needed reminding of _that _fact. Perhaps, if there had been another, someone watching his back, he would not have been captured by The Company. Perhaps he would not be in this situation now, wondering who to speak to.

His main concern was how long he had been imprisoned. Time had no meaning in that drug-induced sleep; it could have been minutes, it could have been days, it could have been centuries and he wouldn't know it.

But this was a weakness. It could not be revealed to any in the house he was standing on; they were all killers, save Jason. But Sylar was slowly learning that Jason was the most dangerous of them all.

So asking them was out of the question.

_There's always her._ Some small voice in the back of his mind whispered to him.

He kicked a rock off the edge of the roof, not bothering to wonder how it had gotten there in the first place. He couldn't see her. Not after what had happened, not after he'd killed her father… _both _of her fathers, for that matter.

Irritation flooded through him. How old was she now? Did she finally come to terms with her ability, or did she still think she was a freak?

He brushed the thoughts away. There was no doubt in his mind that killing her father-her adoptive father, at any rate- was a mistake. After Noah Bennett's death, it had been far more than his daughter that had changed; it had been the Company itself.

After all, Angela had died a year before (Another ability he'd missed), and therefore, the responsibility of this new Company had been given to Noah. He soon fell into the old, 'bag-and-tag' 'one of us, one of them' pattern. Sylar had already dealt with four of his agents before he decided it was time to finish this, once and for all.

So he killed Noah, thinking that the Company would die with him.

But, no. Noah was replaced. And things got so much worse.

The person who took over afterwards was a heartless, cold woman with black eyes that could stare straight into your darkest secrets. Her laugh was an icy thing that chilled your heart, shattering it into a thousand glittering, frozen shards. Sylar had seen and heard both in his later attempts to destroy her. Unfortunately, she was much harder to kill than Noah had been, keeping herself surrounded constantly by those with and without abilities.

But then she became somewhat paranoid, locking away her own guards in bursts of terror. Soon, her entourage consisted of humans only, locking the rest away, to sleep behind the cold grey walls, condemned to a life worse than death.

Sylar, seeing his opportunity to strike, had instantly walked into her office and tried to kill her. In the following fight against the humans who rushed to her defense, he'd managed to land a bullet in her brain as a needle pierced his skin and sent him into the world of darkness.

A blur of dreams and terrifying nightmares later, a face had been in his, wrenching the IV from his arm and shouting, "Move!"

He knew now that it was Ava's face, her red hair falling into her eyes as she stumbled forwards, frantically trying to escape. Her plain face, so entirely forgettable, had not made an impression on him until she had opened her eyes, showing the amber fire within them.

He jumped off the roof, landing perfectly on the ground and walking inside casually. He wrote a quick note, explaining that he'd be back by nighttime, and then walked out the front door.

A whisper of wind, quiet but fierce, flew past him, and suddenly there was something in his pocket. He pulled it out, revealing a small, silver key with a remote attached to the end.

It was then that he saw the car in the driveway.

He looked back to the door, where Dawn was leaning casually against the doorframe, grinning.

"To make you… inconspicuous." She explained with a sly smile, before disappearing inside the house.

Sylar eyed the car in the driveway. It was hardly inconspicuous; the thing screamed of being fast_. _It was sleek and thin, a silver streak of a car that looked as though it could go 300 miles per hour.

He rolled his eyes; the perfect car for a speedster; making sure she went fast, even when she wasn't running.

He sighed and placed himself in the driver's seat. It didn't go as quickly as he'd first imagined, but that had been an exaggeration, anyway. He turned the key and smiled at the purr of the engine.

He backed out of the driveway, testing the car's limits as he sped down the street, the car eating up the miles with ease, tearing through the black asphalt like a wild creature.

Sylar lost himself to the scenery, speeding past him without hope of forming into a recognizable shape. He kept the windows rolled down, so the wind blew into his face, causing tears to stream out of his eyes, his hair blowing around in crazy patterns.

As he drove, he turned his thoughts away from his destination and back to the place where he had begun the journey. More importantly, he thought of the people inside.

Mainly, his thoughts were on Ava. Every time he closed his eyes, if only for a second, if only to _blink, _her eyes would be staring back at him, amber and brilliant, smoldering with fire. She seemed to be taunting him.

There was something about that girl. The gloves on her hands, concealing something beneath… but _what?_ What could possibly be so important that she wouldn't speak of it, not even to guarantee the safety of those she wished to protect?

And then what Jason had said. _"She's met you before…" _The words echoed in his mind, torturing him with their whispered venom. He had never met Ava in his life. So, obviously, she had never met him.

There had to be something else. One simple little solution that would fit everything together. One piece of the puzzle that would clear up the picture.

Before long, he found himself at his destination. He got out and closed the door behind him, walking to the house calmly.

He knocked twice, then stood and waited for the response. When none came, he tried the doorknob, opening it slowly and poking his head inside.

"Hello?"

No reply.

He walked inside, looking around. The house was, for the most part, dark. There were no lights on, and there were only a few windows to allow the sun's rays inside.

The place was eerily quiet. But someone was here; he could hear the heartbeat, rapid and soft, panicked and trying to regain control.

He took a few steps inside and was shot in the chest three times.

He stared in shock at the bullets in his chest. His legs gave way slightly, and he swayed on his feet, in danger of falling.

Slowly, he righted himself, standing straight as his own crimson blood drizzled to the floor, the bullets clattering on the ground as they fell with it. The sound echoed through the house, the slight tinkling of faint bells, ringing in the destruction of any person who didn't have the regenerative ability that Sylar did.

He heard a long line of swears and expletives-most of which were directed at him- as the bullet wounds closed, sealing themselves neatly, leaving behind only the blood.

"What do you want, Sylar?"

The question was curt and hostile. Her voice was harsh, bitter, colder than it had been before. As Sylar telekinetically switched on the light, he saw her eyes sparkle as she glowered at him. So she really hadn't gotten over the death of her father. Either of them.

"Hello, Claire." He said politely.

"Cut the crap and answer the question."

He raised his hands slightly, as though surrendering. "I'm not here to fight with you. I just came for some answers."

"You won't get them here." She snapped. "Get out of my house."

Sylar didn't even reply; instead, he meandered around, looking at the photos on the shelves, looking at each in turn, taking careful note of who was in each.

"Who is this?" He asked, pointing to one man he didn't recognize.

"My husband. He's got a thing for black holes, so if you don't want to get sucked into one, I suggest you clear out."

Sylar shivered slightly. "You're lying." He said coolly. "He _is _your husband, but everything else…" He trailed off, letting the sentence finish itself.

She said nothing, her lips pressing into a tight line.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Claire." He said softly.

She studied him for a moment, then asked, "Where were you?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"All these years, I haven't heard a whisper. Suddenly, you show up at my house and want answers. Well, let me tell you, I need answers, too."

He thought about this. "How many years has it been?"

"Since…?"

"Since…" He paused, considering. "Since Noah died." He lowered his voice. "That was the mistake that sent this whole thing crashing down, anyway."

She raised an eyebrow. "Gabriel Grey, are you actually _apologizing?_" It was a stretch, but Sylar could tell she wished only to infuriate him with the question.

It worked. He ground his teeth together. "Answer the question, please." He was trying as hard as he could to keep as polite as possible, but whenever the name 'Gabriel' was thrown into the conversation, things tended to go sour quickly.

"Two hundred years. It's been two hundred years since you murdered my dad and disappeared off the face of the planet."

Sylar, who had a small paperweight in his hands, dropped it to the floor. Thankfully, it didn't shatter, but rather chipped, before rolling slowly across the ground.

"Two hundred." He breathed.

"Yes." She looked at him. "You didn't know?"

He shook his head slowly. "The Company… I was…detained."

"Oh." Claire paused. "So you don't know about Peter?"

"What _about _Peter?"

"He's… he's dead. The Company killed him." She looked at him. "I have no love for them either."

Sylar's mind worked furiously, trying to deal with this information. "We're the only ones left." He breathed, completely stunned.

She glared at him. "No. I was. For two hundred years." She pointed to the door. "Get out. Get out and don't come back."

Sylar looked at her. There was something about her eyes, something different. Something had changed. There was a hardness in her features, which had morphed from a child's face to an adult's in a matter of days, in his eyes. Her stare was icy, her hands in fists at her sides.

But it was more than that. In his brief time here, Sylar had already seen three guns,-not including the one she'd used on him- all hidden in strategic points around the room. There was a knife concealed in her shirt sleeve as well; the girl was seriously armed and seemed to have good reason.

Something in Claire had changed.

And it hadn't been for the better.

He couldn't come to terms with these thoughts. Claire, the young woman with so much opportunity ahead of her, had changed into… _this._

Sylar nodded, slowly walking out of the house, leaving without another word. These thoughts of Claire had only been fleeting; his mind was still reeling from the shock of having been asleep for two centuries.

As he got into the car, the full weight of the situation hit him. He folded his arms over the steering wheel and placed his head in them, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He was two hundred years old. Two centuries had passed since he'd seen the sunlight. Two centuries of his life had disappeared, two centuries that he would never get back.

_How would you have spent it, Sylar?_ A nagging voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Killing? Stealing abilities from people, keeping what you don't deserve? _

He sighed softly. Ever since that day, back at the carnival, this had been happening. Ever since he had that one touch, that one simple taste of what it was to be something different from the killer, a small part of him was reaching, trying desperately to return. But he'd made his decisions. He was Sylar, a serial killer. And Sylar he would remain.

He started the car and sped back to the house.

* * *

Ava was sitting on the couch, watching the TV, waiting.

It was one in the morning. One o'clock. Ava couldn't sleep; her nightmares tormented her when she tried.

Every so often, she'd hear something moving upstairs, or feel a gust of wind flash by her, on its way to the kitchen to raid the fridge. She wasn't the only one. No one could sleep. Because no one wanted to dream.

She had changed her red gloves, now wearing the black ones that Dawn had given her. The fingertips had been cut off, and now she was methodically making circles around the edges she'd cut with a glowing finger. This singed the fraying areas, keeping the gloves from unraveling.

She waited.

And while she waited, she thought. She thought of her fellow escapees, the ones who had run with her, the ones who had been lucky enough to get away. She thought of Christopher, with his grey-ish face, his bland features and his hollow, sad eyes. His pathetic figure, skinny and gaunt.

She thought of Dawn, with her nervous edge, bitter and cold. The knife she kept clutched tightly in her fist. The smaller blade she kept in her shoe. The anger, the jumpiness, the speed she used for the simplest of tasks.

She thought of Jason, the kid who didn't even have too powerful of an ability, the child that The Company had locked away with the worst people known to the world. His confidence one moment, and his absolute terror the next. The way he looked at Sylar, as though he knew exactly what he was thinking, all the time.

And then, of course, she had to think of Sylar. She'd seen many people just like him, with such great power that never should have belonged to them. Killers, heartless murderers with no thought but the ability that was just another death away.

But then, there was something else. Something different. Something that set Sylar apart from the others. Yes, he had the sadistic attitude, the cold stare and the mirthless laugh that sent shivers down the spine. But he also had something else, a quality that she couldn't place with any of the others.

He had _patience._

And that scared her to death.

The others, those who knew how things worked, they were all impatient, all _arrogant_ and they all assumed that they were invincible. It was one of their greatest weaknesses. They could not be patient when the idea of a new ability was just inches away. They wouldn't wait, they wouldn't watch, to see if anything else was in play.

But Sylar would.

Sylar would watch the person. He would trick them, play games, his sadistic games that tormented a person's heart before he took their life. He would watch, he would monitor, he would make sure that they were not being protected by anyone or anything that could be more powerful than he was.

And he was a regenerist. Which was even worse. It meant that he could wait years. It meant he could wait lifetimes. It meant that he could waste a person's life away, only to reveal his true nature on their deathbed, taking their life before old age or illness could do it for him.

Ava had met only one other like this before. Without thought, without hesitation, without even considering an alternative, Ava was instantly locked in a battle to destroy him.

It was the first time she'd ever killed anyone.

The door opened slowly. Sylar walked inside, trying to keep quiet.

"Hello, Sylar." She said, her voice cold.

He jumped, looking around, before his dark eyes locked on hers. She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her face neutral.

"Oh. Hello, Ava." Sylar turned away casually, placing the keys on a table before walking to the stairs. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."

"Perhaps."

He looked at her strangely, but she gave no explanation. She would not see him in the morning. She wouldn't ever see him.

Because she was going to kill him tonight.


	3. Traitor

Ava had a knife in her hands.

The blade was wickedly sharp and cruel-looking. It was long, almost a small sword instead of a knife. It shone in the moonlight as she walked silently up the stairs, stopping every so often to make certain her heart rate didn't go up. She was pretty certain he could hear it, and she didn't want it any louder than it already was.

She crept quietly into his room. It was pitch-black. Ava, being a creature of light and flame, created a silver-grey one that would likely be put down to the light of the moon. It wrapped around her hand, dancing along the blade, shining, glinting.

Her chest was tight. She was scared, she had to admit. Carefully, slowly, she stole over to the bed.

The covers were pulled over his head. She pulled them down slightly to reveal…

Pillows.

She'd only just processed the idea that this was a trap when she was suddenly fighting for her life.

Electricity crackled around the serial killer as he stood before her. His eyes shone in the blue light as it came in a wave towards Ava. She instantly surrounded herself with a deep purple fire, powerful and hot. It licked around the room, setting fire to everything it touched, including Sylar himself.

With a carefree thought, Sylar extinguished the flame with a gust of wind. Ava swore and rolled to the other side of the room, leaping to her feet. She'd barely regained her balance when Sylar sent her flying backwards, telekinetically throwing her against the wall, causing blood to flow from a wound on her head.

Ava stood again, white fire pouring from her hands and onto the floor, falling out in pulses towards Sylar, flowing like water. Two thick chains, created of the glowing flames, wrapped around her wrists, trailing down to the floor.

Sylar was off the floor, hovering in the air, a smile on his face. Ava was thinking of a thousand ways she could wrap the chains around him, perhaps gaining purchase on his neck and slowly strangling him…

"Come now, Ava. Do you really think you have a _chance?_"

Ava didn't reply; she simply sent one of the fiery chains towards him. It wrapped around his wrist, and he cried out as it burned his skin.

The knife was in Ava's hand in a split-second, and she pulled the chain roughly. Sylar was forced to turn as he spun around, his back suddenly facing her.

Ava threw the knife with precision, aiming for a certain spot on the back of his skull. Just before it pierced his skin, however, Sylar's telekinesis caught it and sent it flying back towards her.

She brushed it aside with a careless wave of the hand, the knife sent aside by the navy blue flame that came from her gesture.

Sylar was turned to face her by this point, and radioactivity began to glow around him. Ava surrounded herself with fire- the typical red-orange kind- forming a perfect bubble around herself. Had it been normal fire, it would not have saved her, but as it was, her ability kept her safe.

Sylar barreled into the bubble, coming through with major burns that began to heal the instant he was through. Ava swore loudly and sent a jet of purple in his direction before running again, dancing aside and tearing through the bubble to give her more room.

_"ENOUGH!"_

Ava stumbled back, surprised at the intensity of the voice. Jason was standing at the door.

A rush of wind flew past Ava, racing past the fires and extinguishing them quickly. Christopher was already at Sylar's side, his hand clamped on the killer's shoulder.

Dawn, her job complete, stood behind Ava and kept her hand on the Pyrokinetic's shoulder, even as she tried to tear away and begin her battle again.

Christopher's effect on Sylar was instantaneous and obvious. Sylar looked rigid, as though he was unable to move. And though Christopher's ability couldn't actually kill Sylar, it seemed to hold him back while his regenerative ability fought against it. His skin was somewhat grey, the color spreading from Christopher's hand like a disease, creeping across Sylar's face.

Jason stood in the doorway, his eyes burning brightly. "We stopped the Company from killing us, just so we could kill _each other?_"

Ava refused to be ashamed, though the tone he was using was much like the one a parent would use to lecture naughty children. She resisted Dawn's grip, fighting the urge to burn her hands. Couldn't they see that Sylar was temporarily helpless? Couldn't they see that this was the perfect opportunity to finish the job she'd started?

"Dawn, get her out of here." Christopher ordered. Dawn nodded, and sped Ava to the basement, where she protested loudly.

Dawn locked Ava inside, but not before warning that she'd douse her in water at the first hint of smoke. Ava knew that she couldn't burn through the door without smoke, so she sat on her mattress with a sour expression on her face.

Dawn raced back up the stairs, where Sylar was being similarly confined. Christopher removed his hand from the serial killer's arm, warning that it would be back in an instant if Sylar tried anything. It looked unlikely; Sylar seemed to have been weakened by the encounter.

They closed the door to his room, then grouped together.

"So why was she trying to kill him?" Dawn asked.

Jason considered this. "Perhaps… Perhaps because she was scared. We all know what it means when a person says they 'know how things work'."

The others nodded gravely.

"They won't stop." Christopher said quietly.

Dawn nodded. "He's right. Ava's actively tried to kill Sylar now. That gives him a reason to try and kill her. This won't end just because of a few threats."

"It will have to." Jason said. "This can't happen again. If it does, then one of them will have to leave."

"We can't just kick one of them out!" Dawn protested. "Not with the Company out there!"

"We may have to." Jason said coldly.

Dawn studied him. Something had changed in the little, terrified boy she'd known from the day before. There was something dark in his eyes, some secret inside him.

"Fine." She said, then sped down the stairs to inform Ava of the decision. Christopher nodded solemnly and went to tell Sylar.

Jason returned to his room, sitting calmly on the bed. The threat would be enough to stop them, he knew. But only for a while.

He could hear Ava and Sylar, both protesting, their thoughts crying louder than their words. Sylar, demanding to know how it was _his _fault that Ava had attacked him. Ava, trying to reason with Dawn, telling her that Sylar could easily kill them all, that this was exactly what he wanted.

Jason sighed heavily and tried to return to his dreams. For once, they hadn't been terrifying; they hadn't caused him to wake up, crying. For once, he'd been asleep.

Until he heard Ava and Sylar fighting.

He fell into darkness, into sleep, and the fear returned, its sharp claws dragging him further and further into the shadows.

* * *

Ava glowered at Sylar, and he glowered back. The two hadn't spoken to each other that day, resorting to shooting death glares at each other instead.

Ava sat down on the couch, angrily weaving a picture out of red flame, taunting Sylar with her ability, practically begging for him to try something.

Sylar, on the other hand, was practicing with his telekinesis, throwing objects across the room, making unspoken threats. He seemed determined to ignore her Pyrokinesis, keeping his eyes away from the flames that hypnotized the others.

The two said nothing for two days straight. Not even to the others. Ava wouldn't even speak to Dawn, and often shot a death glare in the speedster's direction. If there was one thing you never talked about with a Pyrokinetic, it was water.

What no one knew about Ava was that she'd once been in a room, filled with the stuff. No matter where she turned, it was wet, and a showerhead rained the liquid down on her. Despite how she tried to shield herself, she could do nothing but collapse to the ground and shiver, screaming, begging for the pain to stop.

Oh, she would make him pay for that one. The man of the Company, the man with the plan, the man who ran the place. The man who had taken everything from her.

Without realizing it, Ava's flames turned black and grey, weaving around her. A long blade formed in her hand, reaching out, brilliantly sharp.

Sylar could not help but stare. And the more he stared, the more he wanted that ability. And the more he wanted it, the closer he got, until he could see nothing but a red haze, threatening to blind him as he pictured Ava's blood running down her face…

"Sylar!"

Sylar snapped out of it, looking for the speaker. Jason was standing on the stairs, shaking his head.

Sylar glowered at the boy, then turned around and began throwing the objects again, faster and faster, never touching them as he created a tornado of various things, from books to paperweights, pictures to broken glass.

Ava, on the other hand, hadn't even noticed. The black flames wrapped around her arm as she absent-mindedly swung the sword.

She felt someone's cold hand touch her shoulder, and she jumped. Dawn was standing next to her, her grey eyes locked on Ava's own.

The flames disappeared. Ava looked back up at her.

"I'm sorry." Dawn whispered, then sped away, back up the stairs and into her room.

* * *

The next time that Ava and Sylar talked, it was just a simple request. Ava was going out 'shopping', and Sylar asked, quite simply, for an extra jacket.

After that, it was as though nothing had ever happened. The two quickly fell into their old pattern; not quite hating each other, but not particularly enjoying the other's company, either.

Eventually, Sylar knocked on the door to the basement. When Ava answered, she folded her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing in distaste.

Sylar smiled disarmingly. "Hello, Ava."

"Sylar."

"May I come in?"

Ava's eyes narrowed ever further, but she stood aside and allowed him entry.

He grinned, looking perfectly relaxed as he walked inside. He whistled. "Impressive."

Ava said nothing as Sylar examined the walls of the basement. She'd been very busy the last few days, decorating the room with a thousand different pictures, each made of flames. In the corner, a few stood alone, stacked up against each other as though they were actual canvases.

Sylar studied them for a moment before Ava stopped him with a few cutting words, "Why are you here?"

He turned back, still relaxed, still smiling. "I just wanted to talk, Ava. Is that a crime?"

"Yes. Get out."

He chuckled lightly. "Very well…"

He went to the door, Ava right behind him. Just before he made his exit, Sylar turned back to her.

Ava didn't dare move. She was directly next to Sylar, her face only an inch from his.

He moved even closer, his lips going to her ear. He whispered, his breath tickling her skin as he spoke.

"Who is the girl, Ava?"

With a blood-curdling cry, Ava shoved her palms into Sylar's chest. Fire exploded around him, setting the serial killer alight as she pushed him out of the room. She slammed the door in his face as, laughing softly, he extinguished the flames.

He began to whistle softly, the tune unconsciously forming into the theme from Jurassic Park. Perhaps more of that movie had gotten into his subconscious than he cared to admit. Ah, well.

* * *

_To say that Christopher had been unprepared for death would have been an understatement. _

_"No one's ready for death." His psychiatrist told him, her voice calm and cool. She sat up straight, prim and proper, her legs crossed in a lady-like fashion. She was wearing all grey, save the barely visible white shirt that peeked out of her jacket. Her earrings were black crystals that dangled on the end of silver chains. Her brown hair was obviously dyed, as her roots were solidly silver. Even her eyes were grey, watery and lifeless. _

_Did these people not understand how drab they were? Did they not see how Christopher didn't want to be told that his feelings were 'normal'? Because he felt _abnormal, _he felt different. Perhaps it was selfish thinking, but Christopher didn't care. Not anymore._

_"Christopher?" She'd asked, her typically cold voice sounding concerned. "Why do you think you're so unprepared? Why do you think those scans caught you off guard?"_

_Oh, those scans. Those scans that diagnosed him with cancer. Those scans that ended everything, changed everything. Those scans that said he had only seven months to live…_

_"I don't know." He'd said curtly. And that was the end of it. Christopher was done with her, with her opinions of why he was the way he was. She knew nothing of him._

_A very scared, very lonely Christopher walked out of the office without ever looking back. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets. Why was the sun shining? Why wasn't the rest of the world as depressed as he was?_

_He shuffled back to his house, alone, miserable. He placed his hat and coat on a rack and walked to his favorite chair, exhausted. _

_A knock came at the door an hour later. Or maybe it was two; he wasn't really keeping track of the time. He stood slowly, weakly. He didn't even remember walking to the door; he just seemed to be next to it suddenly._

_He turned the doorknob. A smiling mailman was standing there, a package in his hands. Christopher would never forget what the package contained. A book. Just a book. Nothing huge, nothing big. Just a book of poems by Robert Frost. Christopher himself never really had a taste for poetry, but his wife loved it. _

_He scowled at the smiling mailman, who handed him a clipboard to sign. Why did this man have so much life ahead of him, when Christopher had only months? Why was he so cheerful? Why wasn't he on the verge of tears._

_Bitterly, Christopher signed the paper, then handed it back to the mailman, who was still smiling, still happy. Their fingers accidentally brushed against each other as he took the clipboard._

_If Christopher had been unprepared for death, then it was nothing compared with what happened next._

_The mailman froze. His eyes grew round, and something grey was traveling up his arms, his veins standing out slightly, a deep black against the grey._

_Christopher gasped. His finger seemed permanently attached to the man, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't separate them._

_He felt something inside him. A warm, bright glow that flowed down his arm, into his chest. It spread out from there, healing him, changing him._

_The mailman fell over, a blank look on his face. The grey had vanished, leaving only his pale and clearly dead body on Christopher's steps._

_Christopher chocked on a cry. He didn't know what to think, what to do._

_After a moment, he pulled the mailman's body inside the house. He could go no further, though, as he collapsed on the ground and began to sob. What had he done? What had he _done?

_He'd killed someone. He was a murderer._

_That was how his wife found him, an hour later. He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. _

_"Chris?" She asked, her voice trembling. "Chris, what… what happened?"_

_She reached down to touch him, but he spun away. "Get away from me!" He cried out. "Don't touch me!" _

_She stumbled back, shocked and hurt. "Honey… what… what did you _do?_"_

_Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I didn't try, I didn't want to do it, it was an accident…"_

_"Chris…" She reached forward. Before he could stop it, her hand was on his._

_"NO!" He screamed, but it was too late. _

_He watched as the grey slowly spread up his wife's arm, as she froze, a look of horror on her face…_

* * *

Perhaps it was Christopher's scream that sent Ava bolting out of bed and running out the door. Though the thoughts had been on her mind for quite a while beforehand.

She put the key into the stolen car's ignition and backed out quickly, the tires squealing in fear as she raced down the road.

She kept the windows open, letting the wind pour into the car from the outside, trying to regain her breath. Tears were forced from her eyes by the fierce gusts, despite how she fought to keep from crying.

The car sped along the road, the lights slicing through the dark night like twin golden blades. Ava could almost see the fire in those lights, yellow-gold and dancing…

She pulled over, the car nearly toppling over as she swerved violently to her left.

Ava sat there for a very long time, staring out at the dark road, her breathing harsh and heavy.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened the car door. Trembling, she spilled onto the asphalt, struggling to remain upright.

Standing with her back facing Ava was a young girl. Long, black hair trailed down her back. Ava was positively shaking as she came up to her.

"Friday?" She breathed.

The child turned to face her. She smiled. "Guess again, Ava."

The little girl shifted and changed. Reality around her warped for the briefest of seconds. Standing before Ava now was a woman with a sadistic smile on her features. Her eyes had deep-set wrinkles and dark circles under them, though her hair showed no signs of graying.

Tears prickled at her eyes. "Hello, Manda." She said, trying to keep the emotion from clogging her throat. It was hopeless; her heart was pounding rapidly, her arms and legs covered in goose bumps. A new, and yet so terribly old, pain stabbed at her chest.

Manda Cressidy chuckled lightly. "Oh, you've been such a bad girl, Ava. The Company is very, _very _unhappy."

"Tell me something I don't know." Ava watched Manda carefully. She had a few scars left over from her last encounter with the illusionist. Manda had a nasty habit of hurting anything that dared look her in the eye, that dared question what she said. Cruel, cunning, and far beyond caring about what happened to herself and those around her, Manda was known, to those who listened to Company legends, for her ruthless way of dealing with people and incredible skill of avoiding death by inches.

"Oh, if you insist." Manda said teasingly. She all but glided over to Ava, whose amber eyes never strayed from Manda's face.

"He's still alive." Manda whispered quietly. "And, last I heard, he's livid. In fact, last I heard…" She shuffled on her feet, looking for all the world like a schoolgirl with a secret. "He's got a price on your head that makes Claire Bennett look like child's play."

Ava swallowed. "Impressive." She managed to squeak out, then cleared her throat and tried again. "It seems I've rather beaten my record."

Manda laughed without mirth, her glittering black eyes never straying from Ava. There was something disconcerting about the look she was giving the Pyrokinetic, something that made Ava shiver.

And then she recognized it. Strangely hurt and greatly disappointed, Ava looked at Manda disapprovingly. "I honestly thought you were better than that, Cressidy. Has the Company really changed you so greatly already?"

"Hey, money is money, Ava." Manda shrugged carelessly, but her eyes were as hard as steel. "I'm not happy about it, but it's all I got." Her gaze penetrated through Ava's defenses, and her voice lowered slightly. "They've got something we care about. And I'm sorry that yours will never be free." She looked down. There was no more sadistic smile, no more mirthless laughter. Only the dark eyes, shining in the night. "Mine's still got a chance."

Ava swallowed. "I'm not the only one. We can stop them. Together. We can get them both back."

"I don't think so." Manda shook her head. She pulled her collar sideways, revealing a small tattoo on her neck. "They've got me traced, kid." She sighed deeply, and pulled a gun out of her belt, training it on Ava's forehead.

"Really sorry, Ava."

"Me too." Ava replied quietly. "Cressidy…"

Manda fired a single shot.

Ava barely knew what happened next. One moment, she was facing death by bullet. The next, a large gust of wind blew past her, throwing her red hair backwards and eliminating any chance of creating a fiery shield to protect herself. This shield was soon unnecessary, however.

Standing in between the two, a golden pebble of a bullet pinched between her thumb and index finger, was Dawn.

"Hi!" She said brightly, a smile plastered on her features. Her knife pressed to Manda's throat and, in the same bright, cheerful tone, Dawn proceeded to throw the worst swears she knew at her, before whispering, "You are a traitor, Manda Cressidy…"

Ava placed a hand on Dawn's shoulder, shaking her head slightly. "No more." She whispered. "No more…"

Dawn studied her for a moment, then nodded once. She shot one final death glare in Manda's direction before whirling around and gripping Ava's shoulder.

Suddenly, in a burst of speed so quick that Ava could barely comprehend it, the two were back in the car. Dawn was driving, her eyes intense and focused.

"I should have killed her." She said, her words coming out in a menacing hiss.

"No." Ava looked out the window. "No, Dawn. You did the right thing…"

Dawn looked at her for a moment, then turned back to the road.

The silver car sped on into the night.


	4. A Long Conversation

**A/N: Since I didn't clarify this in the earlier chapters, I don't own Jurassic Park, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, James Bond, Lord of the Rings, or Titanic. **

"Manda?" Jason's eyes were wide. Even Christopher looked amazed. "As in Manda _Cressidy?_"

Ava nodded. "She's gotten too close."

Sylar, uncertain of exactly who they were talking about, went along with it anyway. "So what should we do?"

"The only one thing we _can _do." Dawn answered. "We run."

"Much as I hate to admit it…" Ava sighed deeply, shaking her head. "She's right. Now that Cressidy knows we're here, it's only a matter of time before the Company finds us."

"But where would we go?" Christopher asked, worry shining in his eyes.

Ava bit her lip, concentrating. Sylar noticed Jason's eyebrows shoot up as he turned to the Pyrokinetic, for once not disguising his ability. He said nothing, however, and only Sylar's keen eyes caught the gesture.

"I'd planned for this." Ava admitted. "I have a few… well, a few properties in false names, scattered here and there. If the Company finds one, they likely won't find another. There's one a few states from here; Dawn can run us over there." She turned to Dawn. "If there's no objections…?"

"None." Dawn's eyes were dark and somber. Sylar felt his blood freeze. There was something in her expression that terrified him. Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time since he'd met her, Dawn looked truly afraid.

"This would have been a lot easier if Scarface had stayed…" Sylar mumbled. It earned him a few strange looks, but he didn't explain. Ava ignored him.

"Right." Ava said, her voice brisk as she sorted through everything in her mind. "Take Jason first. And Christopher, if you can."

Dawn nodded, taking each of their hand. "Where to?"

Ava was about to answer, but Jason stopped her.

"Wait." He held up a hand. "If Manda knew where we were, then maybe the house could be bugged." Ava nodded once, though it sounded a little paranoid to Sylar. Either way, Ava wrote the address on a slip of paper and handed it to the speedster. Dawn read it quickly and nodded, before racing away.

Ava sighed, looking much older suddenly, her amber eyes sinking into dark circles. She fell back into her chair, seeming exhausted. "She'll be back for us eventually."

"Eventually." Sylar conceded darkly. "And until then? Do we just wait for the Company to knock on our door?"

She shot him a weary, exasperated look before turning away again.

"Look, Gloves." Sylar snapped. "I'm not just going to stay here until they bring someone more powerful than this 'Manda' character."

Ava barked out a laugh. "More powerful? Where have you been the last thirty years?" She shook her head. "She is the Company's most powerful agent. Case closed."

He hesitated, then sat down next to her. She was picking at the frayed edges of her gloves nervously, re-singeing them when necessary. He crossed his arms over his chest, quietly mulling over her words. But his eyes kept going to her glowing fingers, the flames that she commanded…

Dawn wasn't here. Neither were Christopher and Jason.

Ava was alone.

He could kill her. Here. Now. Without problem or hesitation. He'd have to leave, true, but still, it would be done. He would be Pyrokinetic.

It was only after he'd made his decision that he noticed Ava watching him out of the corner of her eye. As he looked to her, her head tilted to the side.

"You want to kill me."

"I always want to kill you."

"True." She turned away. "You're going to try now, aren't you?"

"I'm thinking about it."

She chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you are."

"If I do," He pointed out. "You'll lose."

"Possibly." She shrugged. "But not before I beat the shit out of you."

He grinned. "You know, Gloves, you're not so bad."

"Neither are you, when you're not trying to rip someone's head off." She studied him for a moment, then shook her head. "Nah. You're pretty bad."

His smile stretched for a moment, then faded. "I probably should kill you. Put you out of my misery."

"You probably should." She raised her eyebrows. "But you're not going to, are you?"

He didn't know what to say. At that moment, he'd decided. It wouldn't be in his interests to kill her yet. Not when the Company had found his location. Not when he needed allies. Not when there were too many unknowns.

They stayed in silence for a very long time; in fact, it was only when Dawn came in through the doorway that he finally replied.

"No."

Ava smiled slightly, standing and walking over to Dawn. She took one of the speedster's hands, and Sylar took the other.

And then they were gone.

Two hours later, the Company arrived.

* * *

"Safe at last," Dawn muttered sarcastically, falling down on the couch, spilling over the cushions and picking up a remote to the ancient TV. She looked completely exhausted; across state-trips were easy enough, but with two people in tow it wasn't the most simple of tasks.

The five of them had already claimed rooms in Ava's safe house, with Ava back in the basement. The Pyrokinetic and the speedster were the only two people outside of their rooms at the moment; the other three were unpacking what little stuff they had, rearranging furniture, etc.

"You know, Jason thought that one of you would be dead by the time I got there." Dawn said, her beady eyes landing on Ava.

"I'm sure he did," Ava answered coldly, picking at her nails.

Dawn waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, Dawn sighed and prodded, "So what _did _happen?"

Ava shrugged. "We had a talk. We both hate each other. We both want to kill each other. It'll happen one day, but today just wasn't it." She rolled her eyes. "Hopefully it'll be soon. I'm starting to get tired of him."

Dawn snorted, turning back to the television. Finding nothing good on, she resorted to a small book sitting on the stand next to the couch. Ava, however, simply sat where she was, absent-mindedly drawing pictures out of flames. They were quiet for a while, then Dawn piped up, "You know, it's strange."

The flames died on Ava's hands. "What is?"

"Just…" Dawn hesitated, then went on, "Sylar had every chance of killing us all right after we escaped. He could have lied to us, told us he had a different ability than he did. He could have left then and there. But he didn't." She paused again, the words hovering on her lips but not daring to make themselves known.

"True." Ava answered, raising her shoulders and letting them fall back down again. "But that doesn't mean anything. He could just be waiting. Biding his time." Her amber eyes drifted to the hallway, as though expecting Sylar to emerge from his room and attack at that exact moment. "He's very… patient."

"Except he flew you here, Ava." Dawn said, pursuing the words she'd been holding back. "He could have left you there. He didn't know about your ability; you were just 'someone else'. Who knows?" She slowly twirled her knife, around and around, in her hands. "There's something different about him. Different from the others with intuitive aptitude. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think…"

"Think what?" Ava turned to her, anticipating the speedster's words and bristling. "That he should be trusted? That he _won't _turn on us the first chance he gets? That he'll betray his nature?"

Dawn sighed. "It was just a thought, Ava. And I'm not quite that idiotic." Her eyes drifted out the window. "I just don't think we should provoke him."

Ava snorted.

"Yet." Dawn amended. Ava said nothing, folding her arms over her chest. An amber flame was burning on her shoulder, blazing brightly as she stewed over Dawn's words, her own experiences.

"Maybe." She said at last. "Or maybe he's just another murderer."

* * *

Sylar was in his room, slamming his fists into the walls, sending electricity crackling across the paint, devouring the colors, leaving behind a desolate black scorch mark in its wake. There were many of these marks in his room now, and he had to admit that he preferred it this way. He dug his fingers into the concrete, scraping off the skin and causing blood to stain them. The room looked like a war zone, but it was far better than the plain, sickly green color they had been.

It took him a moment to hear the heartbeat of the person standing behind him, and less to figure out whom it belonged to; there was only one person in the house with a heart that small.

He turned around. Jason was leaning in the doorframe, his shoulder pressed against the wall, his arms folded, his eyes unwavering from Sylar's. Carefully, he stood up straight, entered the room entirely, and sat down on one of the chairs. Sylar sat opposite of him, eyeing the child warily.

"I'm surprised at you, Sylar," Jason said slowly, coolly. "I expected much less."

Sylar's hands clenched into fists, but he forced his voice to remain neutral and steady as he replied, "Well, I'm full of surprises."

Jason's lip quirked upwards. "Sometimes," he admitted. "And sometimes, you're just the person I expect you to be."

There was silence for a long time; Sylar fidgeted under Jason's steely gaze.

"Why didn't you kill her, Sylar?" Jason spoke up at last.

Sylar quirked an eyebrow, forcing himself to sit tall, to tower over the child. "Are you complaining?"

"No."

"Then why ask?"

"Because it's more polite than snatching it out of your mind, as I've already done." Jason pointed out, then stood, turning towards the door. "We have nothing further to discuss."

Just as he was about to leave, Sylar's hand whipped out and caught him by the wrist. "Don't turn your back on me." The serial killer said coldly, standing up. He looked down at the boy with disdain. "Tell me if you know, because I have no idea why I didn't just rip her head off. I could have. I _should _have."

Jason didn't even bother to take his hand away from Sylar; he simply stared the man in the eye. A pounding, piercing headache flared behind his temples, and Sylar stumbled back, dropping to the ground, clutching his head in his hands.

Jason took a step towards him, looking down icily at the helpless man. "You can't answer that question for yourself?" He asked, quietly, walking around Sylar slowly, keeping his mental hold on him tight and agonizing.

Sylar shook slightly, pulling himself to his feet, staring Jason in the eye through the pain. "Because I don't know who she is." He replied, his voice shaking. "And what those gloves are."

Jason smiled, turning away and walking to the door. "You know, if you keep saying it, maybe you'll end up believing it." He hesitated in the doorway, one hand holding him to the doorframe. He glanced over his shoulder. "But you and I both know the truth, Sylar."

"What truth is that?" Sylar demanded, unable to help himself.

Jason's smile widened. "You remember her."

And with that, he was gone, disappearing into his own room, leaving Sylar behind to his blackened thoughts.

* * *

Ava lay back on her mattress, staring up at the blank ceiling. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see through the roof and out to the Company, to the one thing she still cared about. It was infuriating, not knowing what was happening, never knowing if the last thing she knew and loved was long gone, or if there was still hope…

She sighed, accepting the fact that this was going to be a very long night. No matter how powerful she was, no matter how badly Sylar wanted to kill her for it, she wasn't nearly powerful enough to find and save the one thing that still mattered.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Ava placed her arm over her eyes, not wanting to move. She heard the door squeak quietly as it opened.

"Can I come in?"

The voice was so quiet, so gentle. Ava sat up like a shot, her eyes narrowing on the silhouetted head in the doorway. She knew the voice, but the tone was completely unexpected.

She hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Sure."

Sylar walked in and closed the door behind him; Ava sent an enormous ball of orange flame to the ceiling, a miniature sun to light the room. He sat down on the floor without asking, directly across from where she sat on the mattress, her hands folded in her lap.

He smiled a little sadly, a little warily. Ava fixed him with an unwavering, unblinking amber stare.

"Relax, Gloves," he said after a moment, then followed his own advice and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Ava gave him a who-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-kidding smirk, her head tilting to the side. Even Sylar couldn't help but laugh once, very quietly, at the idiosyncrasy of his words.

"All right, all right," he admitted. "I get it, you don't trust me. And you have good reason." He sighed and sat back up, looking her directly in the eye. "But, just for a moment, could we forget all that?"

He sounded so exhausted. Ava could not help the flash of pity for the killer, even if it was cleared away by reason in only a moment. He just seemed so genuine, so completely and utterly… defeated. The feeling only intensified as he continued.

"I mean, we both want to kill each other, and there's nothing we can do about it. That's it, it's over. But, just this once, can't we just… I don't know. Talk?" He shrugged, his voice ancient and weary. "Without all of the threats, without all of the poking and prodding and trying to figure each other out. Just… ignore _everything."_

Ava raised a single eyebrow, looking down at him. "You'd have a lot more luck with one of the others than with me, Sy." She said honestly, brusquely.

Sylar snorted, rolling his dark eyes and leaning back on his hands again. "As if!" He groaned. "They've been driving me _crazy _all day." His voice took on a high-pitched, childish mocking quality. "'Why didn't you kill Ava? Is it possible that you don't _want _to kill her? Maybe there's something good in you after all!'" He said the last words with the utmost venom, spitting onto the ground in disgust. "They don't give up!"

Ava nodded, for once understanding _exactly _how he felt. "They've been on me like that, too. 'Well maybe we should give him a chance. Maybe he's not that bad. Maybe it's just you being biased!'" She barked out a cruel and mirthless laugh. "As-bloody-if. You're a killer, I hate you, case closed."

He laughed at that, looking back to her face. His smile was incredibly infectious, and almost, uncharacteristically… kind. Or, at the very least, without sarcasm or spite. Ava couldn't help but laugh with him, if only quietly.

After a moment, the two of them fell silent again. Ava had to admit, even she was starting to grow tired of the constant battling, the struggle to make your every move perfect, to never show weakness or injury or fault. She supposed it was possible that Sylar felt the same way; but she'd never really thought of them as anywhere near 'similar' before, in any respect. She supposed that was a little close-minded of her; after all, they were the same _species, _and even specials grew weary of running all the time, no matter what they were running from. And right now, they were so busy eluding the Company's grasp that they were only making it difficult on themselves by having to run from each other as well.

Ava turned to Sylar; he'd been watching her carefully as she'd come to this conclusion. He was perfectly still and silent, letting her think it out for herself. Seeing that her train of thought had ended, he pulled back the earlier conversation, continuing as though it had never stopped. "It's not as though I'll ever be able to ignore how much I want your ability." He looked completely relaxed and casual, as though he was discussing something of no more consequence than the weather.

"And I'll never be able to forget that," Ava agreed, nodding. "Why can't they just understand that we're never going to trust each other?"

He nodded as well, actually falling into the conversation. "And that the only real outcome is that one of us is going to kill the other?"

"Honestly!" Ava threw up her hands in exasperation. It was shallow, frilly talk. It was something they both knew, and perhaps the only thing they had in common; that the others in this house just didn't understand it the way they did. But the conversation itself didn't matter; the fact that they were actually speaking to each other _did._

Sylar grinned, and they lapsed into silence again. After a moment, he spoke up. "You know, everything aside, it is very impressive."

Ava didn't need any further explanation- or the gesture he made to the brilliant ball of flame on the ceiling- to know what he was talking about. What else _would _it be? She looked down to her gloved hands, flicking her fingers into life. A small, maroon inferno sparked on them, lighting up the room even further, the colors clashing.

She wasn't exactly sure how to react to his statement. Had it been any other time, she would have shot a death glare in his direction and possibly tried to kill him. But no; this time, she simply replied, "Thanks."

He nodded once, masking his shock that she was actually speaking to him civilly. Even Ava was slightly surprised by her tone.

"I suppose I should say something nice in return, but honestly, I can't think of anything." A smile quirked the edge of her lip upwards. Sylar rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Well, hey, I'm not bad looking." He said with a wink.

Ava laughed at that- a _real _laugh, unlike the ones before, which had been very slightly forced. It was shockingly loud in the small basement, and Sylar's thick eyebrows shot up. But Ava kept laughing, enjoying the feeling for the few brief moments she could.

Sylar grinned, relaxing even further, leaning back again but keeping his eyes on her. Ava finally joined him, resting her head against the wall by the mattress. "Arrogant much?" She asked, her lips spread wide in an unreserved smile.

He shrugged, and Ava laughed again.

Once more, they fell into silence. Once more, Sylar started the conversation again.

"I get it, you know." His voice was very quiet, near silence. "How you don't want to talk about anything with anyone. Because it'll be used against you." He sighed, his eyes on the ceiling again, shining in the light of the brilliant miniature sun. "After all, hasn't it been used against you before?"

Despite the fact that she knew he was no longer talking about her, but himself, Ava felt a shiver run down her back at the complete accuracy of his statement. Her past had been used against her more times than she could count. She'd long ago learned not to trust people with such information; it only destroyed you in the end.

"I killed my mother."

It was so unexpected, so jarring, that Ava's eyes whipped to Sylar's face. It was as though time itself had literally stopped moving. Her heart had completely halted, and her skin started to crawl as she looked at him. He was looking back, his dark eyes smoldering as he studied her, waiting for her reaction. She swallowed, ready to speak, but he got there first.

"It was an accident." He looked down. "I think."

Ava raised an eyebrow. She pushed back the first vicious comments that sprang to her lips and cleared her throat. When she finally spoke, it was in an even, measured tone. "You 'think'?"

He smiled ruefully, catching the smaller, crueler layers of her tone but in no way blaming her for it. "She came at me with a pair of scissors. I was trying to keep them away from me, from her, but…"

"It backfired," Ava filled in, nodding. She didn't need to hear the rest of the story. She got it completely; she'd seen it before.

"Bingo," he said, pointing a finger at her, a teacher pointing out a student who'd gotten an answer correct and exceeded his expectations. Perhaps a little less patronizing. "But there are times when I wonder… what if something different happened? What would I have ended up doing? Would I have killed her anyway, just to get her out of the way? And, if that was the case, what's to say I didn't _mean _to drive those scissors through her heart?" The words were all completely matter-of-fact, but his eyes betrayed him. She could see him searching her face, hawkish, trying to find some sort of kindness or pity in her face.

Ava was sorely tempted to do what was natural; scream at him until she was red in the face, until they were both at each other's throats again, her hands flaming and his eyes glowing with power. Battling until he was incinerated or her head had been sawed off. It would be so simple; deny the man what he wanted, what he thought he needed; forgiveness, in the only form she could give.

Another, far smaller part of her was considering the other option; telling him that it was all right, that it was an accident and that he couldn't blame himself for what didn't happen. Ava started a nervous fire-she could tell it was nerves because it was a bright red, supposedly the opposite of fear. It worked, too. Sylar was eyeing the crimson flames warily, wondering what hideous anger had caused it. But Ava was thinking too hard about her decision to pay any real attention to the man who had just confessed everything to her.

In the end, she chose the third way out. "Why tell me this? Why me? Why now?"

"Why not?" An eyebrow raised; he was putting up the façade again. For some reason, Ava was already mourning the Sylar she'd known for only a few moments; the genuine man who actually _felt _something that _wasn't _the insatiable hunger for her death. Desperate to cling to that man, she stopped him from going any further.

"Dammit, Sylar, you said you'd just _talk_," She was unable to keep the irritation from her tone. She extinguished the flames quickly, with a wild and angry gesture, afraid of how large they'd grow, afraid of losing the conversation altogether. She wondered why she was doing this; to glean information on her enemy, perhaps? To turn his past against him? No, that would be petty and… well, just like her captors had been. She refused to sink to that level if she could help it.

Sylar, frustrated with her annoyance, turned away, glaring at the ground. This was going nowhere fast. "You're picking at scabs, Ava, and…"

"_You _brought it up," she pointed out, a finality in her voice that could not be challenged. Sylar opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, his teeth making a little _clack_ing noise. He thought about that for a moment, then sighed, returning to his previous weary state.

"You're right," He admitted, then again, "You're right, you're right." He threw up his hands, surrendering, then dropped them into his lap again. "Of course you're right," he smiled dryly. "You _have _to be."

"Don't push it, brain boy." Ava said with narrowed eyes. Instead of being insulted by the… well, the _insult, _Sylar just smiled and closed his eyes.

"Relax, Gloves," he said, for possibly the fiftieth time since he'd met her. She rolled her eyes, trying to remain good-natured. She had to admit, it was a struggle, even if she'd gotten along relatively well with him only moments earlier.

"But you're right; I brought it up." He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes again. "I don't know why I told you, Ava. I just did." He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, which he started wringing in his lap. "I guess I'm just tired of everything being a lie; the way I talk, the way I act, every single little movement or gesture. None of it is _real._ And sometimes… I'm not either."

Ava mulled that over for a minute and realized that it was something she could identify with. She knew that feeling; sometimes you were one person, and others you were someone else. Eventually, you lost yourself into the masks you wore. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, unsure of exactly what to say, before finally deciding on, "I guess we have something in common."

They were silent for a long time. So long, in fact, that Ava closed her eyes, and Sylar believed she'd fallen asleep. But when he stood, they reopened, brilliant pools of liquid gold that shone in the flame's light. There was something horribly familiar about those eyes. It wasn't the eyes themselves-he'd surely remember if he'd seen them before- but rather in the feeling behind them. The intense gaze that never let up. The actual kindness hidden beneath layers of hatred and pain.

"Good night, Ava," he said very politely.

"Good night, Sylar," She answered, her tone exactly matching his. As he crossed the room and opened the door, she added, "I still hate you."

He grinned, turning to her. Her otherwise emotionless face registered a small smile. "I still hate you too."

He left in silence.

**A/N: So sorry for the **_**extremely **_**late update! Honestly, I had this written **_**ages **_**ago, but I was going to make it longer before I posted it. Seeing as that's not going to happen for a while, I decided to suck it up and post it anyway. But I'm sorry it took me so long; I haven't really been on FF in… well, almost a year. I'm determined to be on here more often from now on, and I'm really sorry for keeping anyone who is still reading this waiting. (All one of you!) Forgive me? **

** I promise that next update will not take this long. It might take a while, as I'm trying to update almost all of my older stories, while also getting a few newer ones online. Hopefully, and with a lot of luck, it'll be up within the next week or two. Just bear with me, guys. Thanks!**


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